


The World Turned Upside Down

by Rumaan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, Soulmates, birthday fic, canon future fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her world turned grey, Sansa mourned the loss of a soulmate she had never been able to identify.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to the amazing Mere, who has brightened up all our lives and been an absolute joy in the Jon x Sansa tea party!
> 
> Mere requested a soulmate Jon x Sansa fic and this was a chance for me to venture into a trope I've never written before.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, lovely!

Sansa had always seen the world in colour so she knew she had already met her soulmate. Unfortunately for her, that did not mean she knew _who_ her soulmate was.

When she was born, her father had thrown a feast that most of the North had attended with their own families. Her father loved to talk about how Sansa had been passed around the Great Hall at Winterfell, her Tully blue eyes and hair praised by everyone, and how she hadn’t cried once, not even when Greatjon Umber had scraped her baby soft skin with his rough whiskers.

As she had grown, Sansa had used each feast at Winterfell to try and work out who her soulmate was, but always to no avail. She knew from her parents that there was a connection beyond being able to see colour. That the other person felt as if they fitted you in a way that no one else did. But none of the sons of the North inspired those feelings in her.

So she had begun to turn her thoughts away from her soulmate. Mayhap it was for the best that she did not know who her soulmate was, that apparently she could see colour but nothing more. It could even be an advantage. She did not wish to live in the frozen North anyway. She had always preferred the songs of the South, the ones that spoke of love and beauty and knights rather than monsters and the Long Night.

Therefore, Sansa had managed to forget all about soulmates by the time the Royal Party rode north and she was betrothed to the golden Prince Joffrey. He was everything she had always dreamed of. Handsome and dashing and he would be king one day.

Then all her dazzling dreams had turned to dust.

She thought of her lady mother, who would only see in black and white now Father was dead and she had cried into her pillow long and hard. She had wanted nothing more than to return to Winterfell. To gather her remaining family around her and stay in the North. However, fate had not been so kind. One by one, her family had been killed until she was the only Stark left.

Now, as the wind howled around the Giant’s Lance and Sweetrobin grasped her hand tightly as they crossed the narrow high stone saddle of the mountain, Sansa had all but forgotten why she could see in colour. Too many terrible things had happened in the time since she was last in Winterfell that attending one of her father’s feasts to try and work out just who could be soulmate was something that only happened in dreams.

Remembering not to look down but keep her eyes firmly ahead of them as Sansa made her way gingerly across the icy stone. The wind growled fiercely around them, tugging at her skirts and pulling at her hair.

 _It sounds like a wolf,_ she thought with a shiver. _A ghost wolf._

Suddenly, the colours leached out of her world. She did not notice at first as her gaze remained steadily on the snow covered stone ahead of her, but then, she turned with an encouraging smile to Sweetrobin, the world tilted on its axis There was no colour to him at all. All nuance had gone turning him from a small boy with rich brown hair and large eyes, to varying shades of grey.

She stumbled to a halt, scared at how dizzy she felt and worried she could topple off and fall to her death. Her world had turned upside down and sorrow flooded through her with an intensity that scared her.

“What is wrong, Alayne?” Sweetrobin asked.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sansa reminded herself just how precarious her current situation was. She could not afford to fall apart now, despite how much her insides were twisting up with the realisation that whoever her soulmate had been was dead now.

Gone and she had never even known who they were.

“I am fine, my lord,” she said with a weak smile. “Just a little scared. Please would you hold my hand tighter?”

Her words had the affect she had wanted them to carry. Sweetrobin squeezed her hand tightly and the feel of his palm, warm and clammy, helped anchor her to the present.

\-----------

Eighteen moons later and Sansa had still not become used to the lack of colour in her world. She continued to mourn just how drab everything looked in greyscale and then the guilt would hit her. This should mean more than a lack of colour. Someone – her soulmate – had died and all she could think was how she wished she could see her hair in its auburn glory now that the brown dye had washed out.

“Not long now, my lady,” Lord Royce said.

Sansa smiled at Bronze Yohn and looked at the army that snaked behind them. It had been an arduous journey across Westeros to bring them to this point. Through the Mountains of the Moon, where the clans, flush with weapons courtesy of her former husband Tyrion Lannister, had taken one look at the army of the Vale and melted back into the snow. Then through the ruined remnants of the Riverlands, the fleeing smallfolk and high snow drifts, to the frozen swamps of the Neck and the North.

Against the odds, Sansa had managed to raise the Vale. She had weathered being declared Petyr Baelish’s bastard, the death of Sweetrobin, her betrothal to Harry Hardyng being broken by death and the eventual overthrow of Littlefinger. Now the Vale backed her, the last Stark, and with the power of their untouched armies, she had answered the call of the Daenerys Targaryen, newly crowned Queen of Westeros and had marched her army North.

The nightmares of her childhood had come true and the Long Night had come, seeking to destroy Westeros and turn its inhabitants into the undead. The Wall had fallen six moons ago and the Night’s Watch had retreated to Winterfell where Queen Daenerys had joined them with her dragons. From here, she had spearheaded the defence of her realm, gathering whatever armies were left from the War of the Five Kings, the War of the Three Queens and then the second Dance of the Dragons and attempting to hold the Others and their wight army at bay.

The Vale had by the far the most intact army and Queen Daenerys had personally come to request their assistance. She had been met by Sansa Stark rather than Alayne Stone and the relief at resuming her real identity had been overwhelming. She had promised the Queen that she would raise the banners and bring the men of the Vale to Winterfell and they were now a few hours out.

Her heart sped up at the thought of seeing her home after so many years. She knew it had been half destroyed by the Boltons and that the Night’s Watch along with Queen Daenerys’ Unsullied had spent the best part of the past few moons battling the blizzards to restore the castle’s defences. She knew the likelihood of Winterfell being as she remembered was small, but she could not help the hope that fizzled in her blood that it would.

When the large grey walls came into view across the snow laden moors, Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, it was almost as if she had not lost the ability to see colour, the white of the snow highlighting the grey of Winterfell perfectly. The Stark colours come to life and tears welled up in her eyes.

 _Home_ , she thought as she spurred her horse forward faster. She wanted to be there now, not the hour it would take to cross across the last section of moor.

As they got closer, Sansa could see the flags fluttering from the keep. It was strange to see other houses there; the three headed dragon of House Targaryen as well as the plain black flag of the Night’s Watch. However, the snarling direwolf of House Stark flew the tallest and her heart swelled at the sight.

With the blood pounding in her ears, she waited impatiently for the gates of Winterfell to open. She had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was here she didn’t want to savour it, she just wanted to be home.

“Make way for Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell,” Lord Royce called out sonorously.

Guards dressed in the Stark colours peered down as curiously as she rode in at the front of the army of the Vale, smiling and calling out when they caught sight of her Tully hair. Others cheered at the sight of so many reinforcements.

Queen Daenerys and her council of rulers stood waiting in the courtyard and Sansa smothered the resentment that rose up at being welcomed so formally into her own home. The Queen stood where her lord father once did when guests came calling, but Sansa was no guest and Winterfell did not belong to Queen Daenerys.

Nether the less, she allowed none of this to show in her face, as she dismounted, shook her riding skirts out and curtsied to the Targaryen monarch.

“Please rise, Lady Sansa,” Queen Daenerys said. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance once more and that you have answered my call with so many men.”

“The Vale could not rest easy whilst the realm is in such danger, Your Majesty,” she replied. “May I introduce Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Protector of the Vale? He has been instrumental in raising the banners for you, Your Grace.”

As Lord Royce took up Queen Daenerys attention, Sansa allowed herself to look at those who flanked the Targaryen queen. She had been warned that her former husband Tyrion was now Hand of the Queen so she was not plagued with unhappy memories when he nodded his head in acknowledgement at her and was able to respond with a polite smile. Ser Barristan the Bold was also there, head of the Queensguard as well as two other people she did not recognise, the manner of their dress proclaiming them to be from Essos.

However, it was the great direwolf that padded out of the Great Keep that gained her attention. Its snowy fur and red eyes flinging her back several years to when her family were all alive and Lady sat at her side. Tears filled her eyes as she drank in the sight for a small moment and then protocol was forgotten as she caught a blurry sight of dark curls and a long face following behind.

Jon Snow.

She had not been sure if he would be present or not. The last she had heard, he had been touring the houses of the North to boost morale and shore up defences. She knew he was an integral part of Queen Daenerys council and no longer the bastard of Eddard Stark but of Rhaegar Targaryen. But his new status as her bastard cousin did not change the sheer joy that flooded through her.

Darting past the Queen, she dashed across the courtyard and flung herself into Jon’s arms. After a stunned moment, they closed around her, squeezing her tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Seeing him again was as sweet as she had imagined when Randa Royce had told her of his status as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, just before she had lost her soulmate.

Letting out a small laugh, she raised her head and her world tilted once more as she gazed into his grey eyes. Colour bloomed outwards, his eyes no longer monochrome but flecked with a myriad of subtle grey, lilac and black. His skin was warm coloured and scars at his temple stood out white against the pinker skin. Her own hair clung in vibrant auburn strands against his dark fur-lined cloak.

“ _Jon!_ ” she breathed in shock.

Her hands fluttered from where they rested on his shoulders and she had a desire to cup his face as realisation of just who he was filled the empty hole that she had carried since that moment on the Giant’s Lance.

However, before she could react any further than with initial shock, Jon’s arms were gone from their firm grasp around her, instead gently turning her around so she could face the Queen once more, who had a bright smile on her face.

“Now that reunions have been held, shall we withdraw to the Lord’s solar? There are many issues Lady Sansa and Lord Royce need to be made aware of.”

Jon’s hand skittered down her arm from where it had rested on her shoulder, sliding towards her hand where his fingers briefly entangled with her own before he stepped to one side and clicked for Ghost to follow as they made their way into the Great Keep.

\------------

Once all the formalities and briefing of the dire situation Westeros found itself in had finished and they were dismissed from Queen Daenerys’ presence, Sansa lay in wait for Jon who had been asked to stay behind. When he exited Father’s old solar, Sansa emerged from the shadows and grabbed hold of his sleeve.

It had been an effort for her not to just stare at him the whole time they had been closeted in with the Queen. She had wanted to drink him in: Jon Snow, her soulmate.

Disbelief and shock had slowly given way to a tender fondness. He had been under her nose the whole time but she had understandably mistaken their bond as that of siblings. However, now she looked back on it, Jon had always been different. She had never treated him the way she had Robb. Of course, Sansa had assumed it was due to the fact that he was her father’s bastard. Her half-brother, born out of wedlock and his very presence at Winterfell dishonouring that of her lady mother. She, more than any of her siblings, had been aware of that fact and had sought to address him as such. He was never her brother, but only her half-brother.

Now, she wondered if that had been her mind trying to put distance between them because deep down she had known her was far more than that.

“This way,” she said quietly, keen for no one to overhear her despite the fact of them conversing privately would not be remarkable at all. It would be expected if the Queen’s reaction to their reunion in the courtyard was any indication. Nonetheless, she had an impulse to keep this meeting between just them.

Once they were secreted away in her old bedchamber, Sansa said, “You died!”

Jon’s lips turned down at her words and he looked seriously down at her. “I did,” he admitted. “Who told you?”

“No one,” she said. “My world turned black and white eight and ten moons ago, and then today, when I saw you again, colour returned.”

He startled at her words, his eyes seeking out hers before they dropped once more, uncomfortable and strained. This more than anything confirmed to her that she was also his soulmate.

“You knew!” she said accusingly, her temper rising at the realisation that he had always been aware that she was his soulmate. “You knew and you said nothing.”

“What was I meant to say? I was nearly four when you were born and I peeked into your crib, looked into your eyes and suddenly could see everything in colour. But even at that young age, I knew there was something wrong with you being my soulmate. I was your bastard brother.”

Her anger drained away as she realised just how disconcerting that must have been for a young boy who had been raised on the same romantic stories of soulmates that Old Nan told her.

Sighing deeply, Sansa slumped down onto her bed. It must have been awful for Jon, growing up with the knowledge that his sister – half or not – was his soulmate whilst seeing just what true soulmates were meant to be to each other through Lord Stark and his wife.

“How did you cope?” she asked quietly.

“I told myself that you were a platonic soulmate. It has happened before between siblings and I convinced myself that our bond was no more than that.”

“But it didn’t feel like that,” she stated, knowing instinctively that this was the truth.

Was that what a bond between soulmates meant? Knowing things about the other without having to be told. It coloured everything she remembered about her childhood with Jon.

“No,” he said, dropping his head. “It never felt like that.”

Sorrow filled her as she realised just how terrible this would have been for Jon. Bastards were already deemed creatures of lust, envy and deceitfulness through no fault of their own other than having been born out of wedlock. Then to have his trueborn sister as his soulmate must have reinforced all the terrible thoughts he had of himself. Made him think he was unnatural.

She stood back up again and walked towards him. She took his hand gently between her own and said, “It’s not your fault, Jon. You could not have known.”

He raised pain filled eyes to hers. “I hated myself for years. Thought that I was something disgusting and deprived and then to find out all along that I was never your brother. That there was nothing wrong about having you for a soulmate. I was so angry.”

“But you’re not anymore,” she stated once more sure this was true.

His lips quirked up into a small smile. “No. I saw you today and everything fell into place. I had wondered why I was given a second chance with life. Why I had come back. It felt like more than just a prophecy to fulfil. And then you flew into my arms and looked at me with such wonder and suddenly I knew: It was for this moment. It’s a second chance for us; a time when nothing about us being soulmates is wrong.”

Bringing her hands up to his lips, he pressed a fierce kiss on them. It felt like a promise to be all that soulmates were to each other and the touch thrilled her.

Choking on the rawness of her emotions; of just how full she felt at this very moment. How her life had righted itself and nothing had ever been more important than this. Standing here, in her home with her soulmate in front of her.

There was still so much unsaid, so many things they both needed to find out about the past few years. She still didn’t know how he had died or how he could still be standing in front of her as Jon but not Jon at the same time. However, it all faded into the background. There was nothing he could tell her that would change just how vital he was to her very being. This was what she’d spent her whole life searching for and to think it had been under her very nose. She could rage against that, as Jon obviously had, but she had been so angry at so many things for so long that it was a waste of her emotions to be enraged now. Not when she could hold Jon close and revel in how they had come together again; overcome separation and death itself to be here together.

Tilting her head up, she pressed mouth against, delighting in how his beard tickled her skin and how soft and full his lips felt in contrast. Then he gathered her up close and kissed her with a heat that seared down to her very toes.

Sometime later, they lay curled up on her bed, her head cushioned on his chest whilst his fingers played with her hair. She smiled with a joy she had not felt since she had travelled south.

She was home.


	2. Jon's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has always battled with just how wrong his soulmate is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a prompt on tumblr asking me for a Jon POV for this fic and as I so nearly put some Jon POV in the original story, I was more than happy to oblige!

Jon had always worried that there was something wrong with him. Ever since he had leaned over Sansa’s crib when she had been a new born babe and the world had burst into colour. It was his first memory and it had haunted him his whole life.

For years, he had tried to convince himself that it meant nothing. That she was his platonic soulmate no matter how rare they were. He was her half-brother, it could be nought more than that. She would have a romantic soulmate and he would continue on. It did not matter how his heart seemed to swell in her presence or how he would instinctively gravitate in her direction. He was her brother and any other feelings were wrong.

Anxiously, he had battered them down, worried that somehow they reinforced everything he had been told about bastards. That he could never be more than a creature of the lust and lies he had been conceived in.

He had not been prepared for Sansa being able to see in colour. He had been sure that it was something that would just affect him. He told himself that someone else was her soulmate. That it did not have to him. He was her platonic soulmate. He _had_ to be.

Yet, this had made him wary around her. He had distanced himself, unsure of just how he was meant to behave towards his ladylike little sister who had made the world bloom for him. He had watched in agonised silence as her excitement built at each feast their father held. Her eyes would scan around the Great Hall as if she could somehow will her soulmate to appear. Then he would watch as the light dimmed out of her face and her shoulders slumped a little as she realised that she felt nothing out of the ordinary for any of sons of the North. Part of him hoped that it was because _he_ was her soulmate, but he did his utmost to suppress that longing. He was determined to think towards his half-sister in the correct way. Someone else had to also have seen the world open up in a magnitude of colours when they first laid eyes on Sansa. It could not be him. He wouldn’t allow it to be.

However, the soul destroying realisation that there was nothing platonic about his feelings came when she was betrothed to the Crown Prince and his anger towards the smirking, preening prince had been incandescent.  Sansa had been radiant as if the promise of a soulmate meant nothing any more to her and he longed to be able to steal her away and keep her his. Yet, that was not his lot in life for all the right reasons. They were not Targaryens. Starks did not marry their bastard half-brothers. So as she had gone south and he had gone north to the Wall.

It was for the best. He was her half-brother and they could be nothing more than that.

\------------

Then he had been killed; stabbed by his own brothers of the Night’s Watch, and nothing had mattered for a while beyond trying to keep a part of himself alive as he merged with Ghost. The allure of giving up, of just allowing the wolf instincts to take over had been strong. However, there was always a reminder of bright auburn hair and brilliant blue eyes to keep him tethered to his human soul. A realisation that Sansa was still out in the world, possibly the last Stark, and he could not leave her all alone.

When the Red Priestess brought him back and the truth of his origins dawned on him, red hot rage bubbled inside him. For years he had thought himself wrong; a deprived, disgusting excuse for a boy who had unnatural sentiments towards his trueborn sister. But none of it had been true. Yes, he was baseborn, but he was not Ned Stark’s bastard and Sansa was not his sister.

Anger infused his actions for the next eight and ten moons. He fought like a man possessed and was the last man out of Castle Black alive. Returning to Winterfell brought him no solace. Despite the castle being little more than a shell, the essence of Sansa remained in its very walls, reminding him of all he had lost due to the lies of his father.

Nay, his _uncle_.

Jon spent hours in the Stark crypts, in front of the statue of his mother, Lyanna. Questions rested on his tongue but the dead could provide no answers. The godswood proved more helpful. At times, he would rest his head against the great white trunk and fragments of images would flash through his mind. A crown of blue roses held up by the tip of a black lance. Of hands bound together in front of a Weirwood tree on an island somewhere in the south. Of lips and bodies pressed sweetly together in hot and heavy nights. Of a girl, belly swollen, watching out of a window, her eyes red rimmed and sore from sobbing at all she had lost.

The tears would fall then and his rage would give way to a more aching sense of a betrayal and loneliness. One that rested deep in his bones and caused his chest to tighten painfully.

He had come back from the dead. The men called it a miracle. Some spoke in whispers of the Azor Ahai, but Jon could not help but think that he had come back an empty husk.

\--------------

Then the gates had proclaimed that a Stark had returned to Winterfell and Sansa’s name was taken up as a cry around the castle’s battlements. Jon had been sitting in his father’s solar but at the shouts, he had raced downstairs, Ghost’s tail acting as a banner calling him forward.

And there she stood. The wind had caused tendrils of her auburn hair to escape the braid it was confined in and they blew around her face like a bright crown of sunshine, brightening the dreary grey Northern day.

He had little time to react to her presence; to regain a strong possession over his senses. Before he could tamp down the sheer joy at seeing her, she had flung herself into his arms, arms clamped around his shoulders and face nuzzled into his neck. His own arms engulfed her, pinning her to him as tightly as he could with a determination to never let go.

Then she looked up at him, her eyes widening as she stared into his eyes.

 _“Jon!”_ she breathed, shock apparent on her face and he knew then what he had always hoped for had been true. She was _his_ soulmate just as much as he was hers.

Lifting his eyes from her in case he revealed too much, Jon focused on the rest of the people in the yard and he saw Queen Daenerys shifting a little impatiently. Reluctantly, Jon pulled away from Sansa, knowing that now was not the time for any kind of private conversation.

Unwilling to completely let go as they court moved off into the Great Keep, Jon could not help but slide his hand intimately down her arm, his fingers briefly entangling with hers. She was here and he could breathe once more.

Later that night as she lay nestled in his arms, Jon felt complete. He was no longer an outsider; no longer a bitter broken man. Home was not a castle and four walls for him, home was a person. His Sansa. She who had kept him anchored to the world when he had nearly lost himself inside of Ghost. She who had kept him fighting when the temptation to allow the Others to overwhelm humanity had been great. She was what he had been clinging on for.

And for the first time in his life, the world was right how it was meant to be.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With dawn comes fears and doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for the wonderful Mere!

Morning dawned and along with it the realisation that the bubble Sansa had spent the night in had to burst. They were soulmates and the joy in discovering that overtaken everything else. She had revelled in his presence. Revelled in feeling safe for the first time since her father had been arrested and the Stark household slaughtered. Revelled in feeling cherished in a way she’d never experienced before.

But with the dawn came the doubts.

Not in Jon. Or even in them. But in how they were going to present this to the world. Sansa was sure the Queen had very different ideas about how she planned to marry her nephew and his cousin. Her stomach sank at the thought that the Queen may well want to marry Jon herself. They were the last remaining Targaryens and it _was_ the Targaryen way.

“What is it?” Jon asked sleepily, reaching out and only finding her legs because she was sat upright.

The part of her that had trusted no one for so very long wanted to brush his inquiry off. She was no longer used to opening herself up. War had taught her that she could rely on naught but herself. It was difficult to push that instinct away. It was how she had protected herself once she had been on her own. She could not defend herself with a sword like Jon. She’d had to rely solely on her wits.

But the warmth in her chest reminder her that this _was_ Jon. Her soulmate. And if she could not trust him then she could trust no one.

“I am afraid,” she said hesitantly.

Jon sat up then, the furs pooling around his waist and she did not allow her eyes to track the muscles on his chest but to remain on his face. “Why?”

“How are we to break this news? What if the Queen plans for other marriages for us? I cannot go through that again, Jon, I _cannot._ ”

The words had started out haltingly, almost as if she needed to get used to their taste on her tongue once more. However, by the end they were spilling frantically from her lips as tears welled up in her eyes and she could feel panic crawling its way up her back, turning her muscles rigid.

“Hey,” Jon said softly, his arm rubbing soothing circles on her back. “There has always been a recognition of the right of soulmates to marry. Under both the Targaryens and the Baratheons.”

Sansa swallowed down a sob. “These are not normal times. The constant wars of succession have decimated Westeros, the Others come ever closer and if we come out victorious then who is say that Daenerys will not implement a new order on Westeros. One that suits her needs.”

“Daenerys is my aunt. She will respect my rights and wishes in this matter.”

“Will she?” she asked sceptically. If she had learnt anything of queens in recent times, it was that they paid no attention to the wants of others, but did what was necessarily to prop up their power. She had no faith that Mother of Dragons was any different.

“I am her nephew.”

“Exactly,” Sansa said. “And is it not Targaryen practice to marry closely and keep the blood pure? Especially in such times.”

A tense silence fell between them and Jon’s hand stilled on her back and she felt his shoulders tauten. Then a kernel of an idea blossomed in her mind. She looked out the small window of Jon’s bedchamber, which overlooked the godswood. The Heart Tree towered over the other trees, dominant as it had always been and she felt a pull towards it, almost as if it sensed her predicament and was offering a solution.

“We are Starks, are we not?”

“You are,” he replied a little stiffly.

“Your mother was a Stark and you were raised within the walls of Winterfell. That makes you a Stark, too.”

“Not the world.”

“And yet to me you are and always will be.”

Jon smiled warmly at her then, his arm sliding up from her back to her shoulders and wrapping itself around her. “Then that is all that counts.”

“We could get married. Here in Winterfell and soon,” she said urgently.

His arm tightened around her shoulders and he was quiet for a long moment. She peeked a look up at him, anxious to see his reaction. He was frowning as if concentrating and she could not help her soft smile at the sight. He had always done this. Whenever Maester Luwin had presented him with a particularly tricky problem, he had frowned as he worked it out.

“The old gods do not require more than a witness,” Jon said slowly. “And Sam will be happy to come.”

“Sam?”

“Samwell Tarly. My closest friend from the Watch. He has not long returned from Oldtown where has forged some of his Maesters’ links.”

“A Maester would be good. Trustworthy.”

A rare grin spread on Jon’s face. “We should waste no time. Get married now,” he said before kissing her soundly and springing out of bed.

“Now?”

“No one can stop what has already happened. We will be protected by the bond of marriage and the bond of soulmates.”

“Now,” she said, firmly. Love welling up as she scrambled into her clothes alongside Jon.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, you can find me on [tumblr](http://rumaan.tumblr.com/) if you should so wish!


End file.
